Chapter Text
Yeosang had always hated his mother.
She was as fickle as she was constant, always had the same conservative outlook on life while never steering far from her path. She was always interchangeable and unpredictable. She was chaos and she was harmony, all at once. She was a paradox and she was a conundrum. She was nothing to Yeosang at the same time she was his whole world.
He doesn’t really recall the first couple of years of his life. Naturally, most people don’t recall anything from early childhood, but for Yeosang it stretched out into the late years of his childhood, as the brain has a funny way of dissociating from whatever trauma it experiences. He recalls glimpses from here and there, both good and bad, and he most definitely recalls what was never there.
Her.
While almost everyone else were there for him, his mother never truly was - not unless it was something from which she could benefit - which is how he knew she didn’t like him and how he came to hate her from the very beginning. Of course it wasn’t hate to begin with. Hate is something a child reserves for vegetables and going to bed while the sun is still up, but he knew didn’t like her either.
Love and hate are two feelings that can’t exist without one another. One cannot know how to hate if there isn’t love, too … Which is why he remembers his nanny, Sora, with such fondness that he’s sure he thinks of her more as a mother than his actual biological one. Family isn’t necessarily bound by blood is what Yeosang also learned early on … Not when Sora, who had always loved him like he was her own, had taken better care of him than his own mother ever could.
The first actual memory Yeosang has of his mother is the physical abuse.
It’s the slap on his wrist when he didn’t hold his violin right. It’s the harsh yank of his arm when he strayed a little too far on the sidewalk. It’s the pinch to his rib when he didn’t hold his spoon right at the table. It’s the flick of a finger to the back of his head when he didn’t sit up straight enough. It’s a book being thrown at him for merely just breathing the same air as her. Don’t talk, don’t even breathe. Don’t make yourself known. Just keep still and stay quiet.
Naturally, her methods upgraded over the years as they got more vicious and sophisticated. While physical abuse leaves its marks, they always fade away eventually. Bright red swells and purple hues slowly fading to a yellow-y brown and green, until they eventually only cling to your physical body with their psychological scars–
And that’s where his mother really excelled and still does to this day.
The psychological abuse.
It would have been better if you had never been born.
Yeosang sometimes sought out love and affection from his absent father, which he got whenever the man was in the right mood and felt like it suited him to interact with his child. It was rare, but at least it did happen, which was more than could be said for his mother. Most of the time he was bought off with gifts, because it was easier having your assistant look for presents, than spending energy on half an hour of playtime with your son. If showing affection for your child was best done through gifting them toys - which eventually upgraded into expensive gifts from high end, designer brands as Yeosang got older - then his father deserved the Dad Of the Year award every year.
Sadly, the man was indeed an absent father, workaholic as he was. Their wealth didn’t come from nothing and Yeosang’s father was where the main income lay. He was the CEO of his own company, famous all over South Korea, always on everyone’s lips. It earned them more money than his mother knew what to do with, but trust that she did try. This also meant his father left poor little Yeosang to fend for himself against his mother’s ruthlessness and that he never saw the horror of what his only son went through …
And even if deep down his father probably already knew, he didn’t do anything about it. Most of his energy was spent either calming his wife down or humouring her with gifts to divert her attention. After all, he couldn’t have her ruin their only heir entirely. Yeosang truly believed the man refused to acknowledge the reality of things, which was why he sometimes hated his father more than he did his mother. At least she never hid her animosity towards him. His father just donned blindfolds for the sake of peace in the household.
What Yeosang had ever done to deserve her wrath, he didn’t understand. He grew up in an environment of constant fear, always worrying when the next attack would occur. Whenever her punishments had been a little too much to handle - even though he didn’t entirely understand it - he’d run and hide in his self-made cave of safety in the attic. Since the room was only used for storage, this meant that everyone but his mother knew of the place. She’d rather end her life than be caught dead doing physical labour.
And so, whenever Yeosang had been absent for a little too long, everyone but his mother knew where to look for him: their housekeeping crew, his nanny, even his father who once in a while had to stow away a few things, knew of the safe space built out of blankets, pillows, a few lapidated comic books and plushies.
Sometimes Yeosang would hide for hours on end before someone came looking for him, especially when Sora had been dismissed for the day. Yeosang’s mother didn’t like it when she caught her being too affectionate - “that is my job as a mother, certainly not yours!” - and she’d try to get rid of her until she realised she couldn’t make the rest of the staff care for her child in Sora’s absence. Eventually she’d call the nanny back, no questions asked, and life just continued until his mother had her next fit.
It was better this way. At least, that’s what Sora had told Yeosang. “I’ll always come back for you, I promise. Just wait for me a little, okay?”
And Yeosang believed her, because she always did. She was his silver lining.
Sometimes Yeosang could be coaxed out of his cave with the promise of a cookie and some hot chocolate in the kitchen downstairs. Other times, when the confrontation with his mother had been a bit too physical, it took a little longer for him to feel safe enough to come out. Sora always applied salve to the worst of bruises, as Yeosang still sat inside his fort of blankets, wiping away remnants of salty tears. She would leave his favourite snacks outside the fort and merely keep an eye on him, while not interrupting his safe space too much. If Yeosang hid for more than a day, she always dismissed his teacher to take over his daily classes. She’d sit outside the pillow fort and teach little Yeosang his maths and korean vocabulary, while he held his favourite plushie close and shifted his eyes nervously between the paper in front of him and the door behind Sora’s back–
He was terrified of his mother finding the place and tearing it apart.
But she never did. She never found it - and years later Yeosang would come to realise exactly how much he owed Sora for keeping his space exactly what it was - a safe space away from his mother.
The list goes on and on, and Yeosang would need several days to even start categorising the abuse. Most children get hit every now and then, it’s not like he’s oblivious to the fact that everyone has to be brought up to become decent human beings and that punishments are sometimes in order …
He’s just pretty sure most children get hit with a slipper or get a little slap on the wrist every now and then, instead of being told they’re the dirt underneath someone’s italian designer stilettos and then have said shoe shoved into their backs to leave a sharp mark for days.
Despite it all, Yeosang managed to prosper and flourish in his school life, once he finally left the home schooled life behind. Whether it was through diligence or sheer spite, he’s not really sure, but the first day he went to a proper school outside of the family mansion, it felt like a dream come true. There were kids - actual human beings - to play with, teachers who praised him like Sora always had whenever he did something good and there was so much love around that it almost overwhelmed him.
It didn’t matter that the school was a private, all-boys school and that most of the other kids came from rich families too. To Yeosang it was a liberation to spend eight hours a day away from home. A pecking order among the students began to surface once the first honeymoon phase was over, but no matter what the other kids tried to bully him with, it was like water off a duck’s back to him. No one could hurt him as much as he’d already been and it essentially made him immune to whatever they tried.
In the end Yeosang was left to his own vices and no one bothered him too much. The years of abuse and being home tutored had already left its deep scars inside of him and he struggled to build relationships because of it. He made a few superficial friends, other introverted outcasts like himself, but nothing deeper than that. Still, the school became Yeosang’s emancipation and the one thing that kept him going throughout the years.
But everything wasn't well just because Yeosang could leave home for a couple of hours a day. There were still mandatory interactions between his teachers and parents, as is natural for most students all over the world … And the parents-teachers conferences were always the worst.
Not because his teachers ever had anything negative to say about him. He was always praised. Always received good grades. Never got himself into fights or alike. There really wasn’t anything unfavourable that his homeroom teacher could relay to his parents. But having his mother - and father for that matter - sit and nod agreeingly with every word that came out of his homeroom teacher’s mouth felt like bullets being shot through Yeosang’s body, because he knew the aftermath wouldn’t be pretty. He knew that the second they made it to the car, his mother would start screaming her head off about the teachers not seeing Yeosang for what he was. A nuisance. A problem. Just a stick in the mud that would never change.
“We’re switching schools. I will not have him going to a school where the teachers aren’t tutoring him properly. If he’s getting straight A’s there’s something wrong with them. They’re being too lenient–”
Eventually, his father always managed to calm her down enough to leave it be. Every year was the same and Yeosang knew the routine by heart by now – that didn’t mean it didn’t add to the amount of invisible scars on his body every time he had to go through it, though.
As long as Yeosang could still leave home for eight hours a day he considered himself lucky.
Fortunately, the physical abuse died down over the years, mostly because Yeosang got older, which meant he got bigger. When he began towering over his mother she probably considered him too big of a risk. Not that Yeosang would ever hit back. He’d never been violent a single day in his entire life, but there was no denying having had the thought once in a while. Still, Yeosang grew up and left his childhood behind …
And he flourished into a tall, lean and beautiful boy.
The running joke throughout middle school had always been that Yeosang looked too feminine to be a boy. Sometimes the other boys would leave him mocking, little love letters, asking him to be their girlfriend and whatnot, but even this Yeosang could ignore, because he knew they were just looking for an easy target and someone to turn into their punching bag. As he continued to shrug it off and never gave them any reaction to work with, it wasn’t nearly as interesting.That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, but he could internalise the harsh words and the bullying all through his early teenage years, until he reached the age of starting high school.
Because just when he thought he’d finally survived the worst, a new era began.
The emotional abuse.
It had always been there, both in school and at home, but now it intensified tenfold. If his mother couldn’t harm him with her hands anymore, she could harm him with her words and her actions.
I raised a boy, not a girl, was her first go-to when Yeosang began adding touches of deliberate femininity to his daily looks. It would be the smallest of things, like accessorising his school uniform or wearing cute pins in his hair (because he was scared dead of ever buying any clothing for himself that would be considered girls clothes). When she eventually realised she couldn’t make him change and that Yeosang’s choice wasn’t one of rebellion, the torture took a quick turn for the worse,
If you want to look like a girl, you’ll eat like a girl, became her favourite choice of torment, because it was something she could actively control and force Yeosang to adhere to, at least while they were under the same roof. This meant trying to control Yeosang’s intake of food - or rather the lack thereof - and treating him like he was heavily obese, despite he’d always been a scrawny kid.
Yeosang’s mother had always eaten like a bird, always picking at her food at their rare family dinners. As far back as he could remember, he had never seen her eat anything that even came close to being considered unhealthy. Neither of his parents ever cooked and whatever sweets Yeosang had had during his upbringing had been something Sora had brought him or their cook treating him to a little something in secrecy, particularly on days where his nanny had been absent.
On the best of nights he was served the same as her, which wasn’t much, really. He could see the pain in the eyes of their cook as the plate was put in front of him, but he assured them it was easier to just go along with her ideas than losing their job over it.
On the worst of days it was a single almond placed on a piece of lettuce.
To make up for his hunger, Yeosang practically inhaled his food during lunch time at school. For a period of time he’d bought snacks and hidden them in his room for emergencies, but even those were eventually found and his credit card had been cut in two as collateral damage of his unacceptable behaviour.
But despite everything, no matter how much she let her harsh words rain down upon him or how diligently she tried to break his spirit, Yeosang had been taught one thing at a very young age that would forever be his lifeline.
Sora’s words still rings true inside of his head and to this very day, he remembers them as clearly as if she’d said them just yesterday:
“Every cloud has a silver lining.”
And Yeosang was willing to suffer in order to feel somewhat comfortable in his own body. His mother could try break him as many times as she wanted to, she could humiliate him and take away his things all she wanted to, but she could never take away the one thing that kept him going–
Yeosang hates his mother, but he loves himself.
All he can do is count the days until he can leave - which will be soon - and pray that the physical distance will be enough to escape the worst of it.
┈
On the day Yeosang is set to leave for the university, his mother is bedridden.
It’s his father who sees him to the door, while hired movers load the last few boxes and suitcases into the back of a large van.
“Mr. Kim will drive you there and the movers will follow behind. I’m sorry I can’t take you there myself, but I can’t abandon your mother when she’s ill, you know she won’t listen to any of the staff–”
Yeosang nods and feigns understanding. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it, dad.”
“We’ll come visit you once you’ve settled in,” he assures him, but Yeosang knows they won’t.
At least he appreciates the fact that his father has the decency to try and make it sound like he means it. Perhaps one day, if Yeosang makes a name for himself, he might receive a visit from them to his future home.
“I have a present for you,” he adds and shoves a little box into Yeosang’s hands. “Think of it as a way for you to become self-sufficient. You can open it in the car.”
He waves at their family chauffeur as he walks his son towards the car. He manages a few pats to Yeosang’s back as a means of saying goodbye and waves at the rolled down window when the car takes off. “Have a safe trip.”
The car slowly begins making it down the gravel driveway towards the entry gate to the mansion. The chauffeur, Mr. Kim, finds Yeosang’s eyes in the rearview mirror as they wait for the front gate to open,
“It’ll be good for you to get away from here and start somewhere fresh, Mr. Kang.”
Yeosang sees the years of wisdom in the elderly man’s eyes, hiding behind horn-framed specs. He knows what he means by the words left unspoken and he thanks him sincerely.
“There’s a little something for you in the bag there,” he continues and jerks his head to the right. Yeosang notices the black plastic bag in the passenger seat next to him.
“It might be silly, but my wife made fresh batches last week and she practically forced it into my hands this morning, saying no one should move out on their own without a box of kimchi in their fridge.”
The words almost make Yeosang tear up. “R-really?”
“I drew the line at buying toilet paper,” Mr. Kim chuckles as he makes a left turn and finally leaves the mansion behind. “She knows you’re moving into a dorm, but she got all excited since our own kids have already left home years ago, so–”
“Thank you! Thank you so much,” Yeosang blurts out. “Please thank Mrs. Kim when you get back home from work, I promise I’ll enjoy it a lot.”
A knot begins building in his chest as he takes the bag in his hands to eye the container inside, filled with fresh, homemade kimchi. His eyes sting from being on the verge of tears and it’s almost unbearable to contain all this emotion at once.
“Ah, no need to thank us, Mr. Kang, it’s just a little customary gift.”
The genuine smile on the older man’s lips tells Yeosang it isn’t just a little gift, but he doesn’t say that. He leaves the younger to deal with his emotions on his own, as Yeosang tries to settle down with a couple of heavy sighs. The rich colours of the countryside rush by outside of his window. It’s almost cathartic to watch the long rows of trees as they flicker by, trunk by trunk, until they begin morphing into buildings and cityscapes the deeper they venture into Seoul.
Yeosang is so lost in his own thoughts, he almost forgets to open the present from his father. It tumbles to the floor of the car when Mr. Kim has to hit the brakes a bit too rough because of some rowdy pedestrians.
“Watch where you’re going!” he yells out inside the car, while Yeosang picks up the box and carefully begins unwrapping it. There’s no letter, just the pretty little gift box with a golden string keeping the lid in place.
He barely manages to lift off the lid before he sees it. It’s a black card.
A black, unlimited credit card with his name on it.
“We’re almost there, Mr. Kang. What was your room number again?”
Yeosang quickly closes the gift box and shoves it into his bag. “2nd floor, room 117.”
He’s seen pictures of the dormitory when he enrolled online, but he’s never visited. When they finally arrive and roll up into the parking lot, he knows the pictures would never have done the actual building justice anyway;
It’s massive. It looks nothing like any architecture he’s ever seen in South Korea before. It seems to be at least three stories tall and the walls look like they’re built from cobblestone, with various green shrubbery running up the side of the building, all the way up to the roof.
It looks like something out of a history book, like a romanticised version of a castle, right in the middle of Seoul. If he didn’t know any better, he’d be convinced he had been shipped off to England - or Scotland for that matter.
And that’s just the dormitory. He knows the rest of campus stretches out wide all around in the area, and he has yet to see what all of those buildings look like.
The contradiction to the traditional vibe of it all, are the students lounging outside on patches of grass and hanging out around tables together. Everyone is dressed casually and come in various shapes and genres. No school uniforms - unless it’s a deliberate choice of fashion - and there’s hair colours and styles of all kinds, varsity jackets, glitter and basic hoodies. Someone’s even wearing a bikini and she struts down a nearby pathway wearing pink, plateau flip flops, lollipop in mouth and a rolled up yoga-mat underneath her arm. She looks incredibly carefree and Yeosang finds himself completely mesmerised by her fearlessness.
“Mr. Kang?”
Yeosang snaps out of his reverie.
“Sorry, I just took it all in for a second.”
“It’s definitely … Something,” the chauffeur agrees as he holds the door open for Yeosang to exit the car.
It takes them about an hour to unload everything and carry it upstairs into the new dorm room, which will serve as Yeosang’s home for the next three years, at least. It’s a single room. No dorm buddy. It’s still about the same size as the shared rooms are supposed to be, but he gets it all to himself, thanks to his father’s money. It’s about the only privileged thing Yeosang will ever be thankful for in his life.
“Put the kimchi in the fridge right away,” Mr. Kim instructs as he dusts off his hands on his pants.
Yeosang quickly does as he’s told and bows politely at the movers for having helped carry the last of his boxes to the room.
“Again, thank you so much for all the help,” he addresses their family chauffeur.
“Please, it’s what anyone would do when someone moves out,” Mr. Kim explains nonchalantly.
He doesn’t even realise his mistake until he sees Yeosang standing alone, holding the little gift box from his father in his hands. It’s what anyone would do. Except Yeosang’s parents.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”
“It’s okay,” Yeosang cuts him off with a bright, faux smile on his face. “Don’t think anything of it.”
Before he knows it, he’s being pulled into a big, warm hug, receiving pats on his back.
“You’ll do great, son. Don’t hesitate to call me or my wife if you need anything. I’m sure she’d be happy to bring you more homemade side dishes and alike,” Mr. Kim assures him and ends the hug with a firm grip to Yeosang’s shoulder.
“I mean it, Yeosang-ah,” he adds informally, because he knows Yeosang needs to hear it. “You’re always welcome at our place.”
Yeosang discards the gift box and hugs the family chauffeur once more - this time really hugging back - and allowing himself to feel like he’s truly saying goodbye. He knows it isn’t really a goodbye, but more of a see you later , but Mr. Kim is still leaving and that means Yeosang will be alone. He’ll miss him terribly, even if he isn’t even close family.
But it feels like it. It feels like he’s finally saying goodbye to someone who cares and wishes him the best. There’s nothing that’ll even come close to a feeling like that. Not while a box of homemade kimchi sits in his little fridge and a pair of strong arms are holding him tight, hugging him back as if the driver is sending his own son off to university.
Not even a black, unlimited credit card could make up for that.
The first thing Yeosang does, after Mr. Kim has taken his leave, is to open a window and fall face down on his bed. Everything’s a mess inside the dorm room but he doesn’t care. There’s no one there to tell him what to do, no one to scold him for making poor life choices. It’s his dorm room, and his dorm room alone. For the first time in his life Yeosang can do exactly as he pleases.
As he lies there, he observes the thin, white curtains swaying gently in the breeze as he listens to the sounds coming from outside: There’s people laughing and yelling as they walk by on the path beneath the window. There’s the roaring coming from car engines in the parking lot along with birds chirping happily.
The whole concoction of freedom lulls Yeosang into a blissful sleep he never knew he needed. When he wakes up it takes him a few seconds to realise where he is;
Yonsei University. Seoul. Second floor, room 117. On his own.
Suddenly, there’s a knock on his door. Yeosang scrambles off the bed to open it and when he does he finds the, quite possibly, most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, standing outside, with a kind smile on her face.
“Hi there. You’re, uh–” She looks at the little slip of paper in her hands and then back up at him, “You’re Kang Yeosang, right?”
Yeosang nods quietly, still completely mesmerised. She’s dressed for the warm weather of July, black skirt and a cropped top to match, with bare legs that go on for days. She flips her long, black hair over one shoulder and extends her hand in front of Yeosang,
“I’m Ahn Hyejin, but you can call me Hwasa … Or noona,” she adds with a giggle.
“Hwa– sa?” Yeosang questions, dumbfounded.
“There are so many named Hyejin on campus, I got tired of the constant confusion,” she explains and shakes their hands. “I’ve never met a Yeosang before though?”
Yeosang feels warmth beginning to rise to his cheeks, an inevitable blush making its permanent residence there. “My, uh, my father chose it. He wanted my name to be loud and never go unnoticed, like a sound resonating from a high point. That’s what it means.”
“That’s cute, I like it.”
“T-thank you.”
She juts her hip out and pulls out a brochure from the bag hanging over her shoulder, then hands it to Yeosang who accepts it with a polite bow. Mentor-mentee programme.
“I’m your mentor, but just call me your noona, okay? Everything else sounds a little stuffy. I’m making my rounds here right now and I’ve asked everyone to come join me downstairs in five minutes, then we can go grab dinner together?”
“Uh, sure–”
She instantly rewards him with a toothy smile and claps her hands together in excitement. Even her nails are pretty: long and pointy, all decorated in pink glitter and sparkling beads. “Perfect! I’ll see you there Yeosangie.”
Fifteen minutes later and everyone’s seated together in the dinner hall, with a massive bowl of samgyetang sitting in front of each one of them. Yeosang eyes the bowl with wary eyes. On one hand, he hasn’t been presented with this much food since forever and on the other, he has no idea how he’s supposed to eat this without being sloppy and making a mess. There’s literally half a chicken lying inside the bowl, doused in broth. He looks down the table to see how everyone else fares. To his surprise, his new mentor is the first to dig into the food, straight up sinking her pink claws directly into a piece of chicken leg. She gnaws at it without even an ounce of graciousness and soon discards the completely peeled bone into an empty bowl.
“No way to eat this prettily,” she mumbles through the food in her mouth and slurps a few spoonfuls of soup, making the broiled chicken go down easier. “Dig in, Sangie. You’ll need the strength to unpack all those boxes in your room.”
Everyone follows Hwasa’s lead and digs in. Yeosang carefully tries to separate some meat from the bones with the spoon and chopsticks available, but it only makes everything messier. The slurping and champing of food around him drowns out every other sound in the room. People are deliberately talking with their mouths full, too, completely uncaring of how unseemly it sounds and looks.
It’s all too much to take in all at once and it’s quickly becoming overwhelming.
“You okay there, Yeosang?” Hwasa asks.
Yeosang looks up at her as she sits in front of him. She even has pieces of rice stuck to her chin now and there’s grease all over her fingers.
He hears the echo of his mother’s voice in the back of his head. Uncouth slob.
“Y-yeah,” he lies.
“You don’t like chicken?”
“No, I love it,” he answers, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.
Hwasa tilts her head sideways, her lips forming in a sad pout, as she eyes the barely touched food in Yeosang’s bowl. She clearly knows something isn’t adding up here, but thankfully she doesn’t address it. Instead, she reaches for the bowl in front of her mentee and without further ado, pulls the drumstick off of the thigh on the chicken and arranges it so it’s easy for Yeosang to pick up.
“There you go. Better?” Her face is one big smile and it’s infatuating.
Yeosang finds it impossible to resist her charm. “Thank you,” he answers, barely above a whisper.
Half a chicken and a whole bowl of rice later and Yeosang is more full than he’s been in ages. Being dragged or carried back to his dorm room right now sounds like a really good idea. He hasn’t managed to talk to any of the other students at the table, but everyone seems nice and friendly with one another. He’ll try better tomorrow.
Hwasa is kind enough to walk him to his dorm room instead. She offers him her phone number and asks if he’d be up for a cup of coffee sometime tomorrow, to which Yeosang happily accepts. They quickly exchange their kakao information.
“I gotta make sure my lil’ mentee is doing okay, right?” She jokes and winks at him.
The gesture makes Yeosang feel flustered and he can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, again.
“Christ, you’re adorable. If I wasn’t four years older than you, I might have asked you out on a date. Then again, my girlfriend might disagree with that idea–”
Yeosang must look like a deer caught in headlights, since Hwasa instantly breaks out into a loud, barking laugh upon seeing his face. He feels like crawling into a hole and never coming back out, that’s how flustered he feels.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop before you end up passing out from embarrassment. Goodnight Sangie, sleep tight. I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?”
Yeosang nods quietly as he manages a polite nod and a little wave.
As soon as his mentor takes her leave, he immediately bolts for his bed and launches himself down onto it. He hardly knows which emotion to feel first.
Embarrassment? Happiness? Disgust?
He settles on embarrassment first, as Hwasa has left him feeling flustered from being as blunt as she is. He feels like an idiot for not being able to come up with a proper answer, but at the same time he feels really happy. He’s happy that he was included and invited to dinner … And then the negative thoughts slowly begin taking over, plunging him head first into a downward spiral of disgust and self-hatred.
He shouldn’t have eaten all that food.
Yeosang feels bloated and disgusting inside. He briefly considers throwing up but he knows it’s a horrible idea. It’s not the first time the thought has entered Yeosang’s mind, but it’s always been just that … A thought. Nothing more. He very well knows it’s his mother speaking when he gets like this. These thoughts aren’t Yeosang’s own. He’d never do something like that.
I love myself and all my feelings are valid, he reminds himself.
Instead of wallowing in his own pity, Yeosang decides to unpack a bit to busy himself. His room is already furnished with a few bookshelves and a desk, plus your mandatory built-in closet and a bed. The best thing about the room though - and Yeosang already knows he’s going to live in this spot - is the little window nook. The alcove is framed by a beautifully carved stone arch and has a wooden plateau-like bed going all the way from one side to the other. Yeosang places a few decorative pillows and puts one of his hanging vine plants on a shelf inside the little nook, which already has it looking more cosy.
All his books are soon placed onto their designated spot on the bookshelves. He even manages to hang up a few strings of fairy lights for a more homely feel. His clothes will take ages to unpack so he saves that for tomorrow. Right now there’s only one thing missing …
His large studio easel and a ton of painting supplies.
Yeosang did his best of cleaning up old brushes as well as checking old tubes of paint before he left home. He’ll need to find an art supply shop somewhere nearby, but until then he has his faithful sketch book, pencils and his iPad.
Yeosang knows he has no desire to become a renowned painter and exhibit his pieces in a gallery. To him, it’s a pipe dream that no one ever achieves anyway. Fine art belongs to the history books and the painters of the past. It’s all become a world of pretentious socialites and disinterested colleagues, who all only show up at private views for the champagne, ass kissing, and for boasting. Yeosang would rather design cute figurines or comic figures that put a smile on people’s faces. He’s even considered getting more into game design, like drawing and designing characters for digital games, since he’s always been into computer games.
He wasn’t allowed to play much for himself though - “If you got time to play games, you haven’t studied hard enough!” - but he did have access to youtube and he often watched playthrough videos late at night before he fell asleep. His favourite were always the games based on comic books or the novels he’d read. It was so mesmerising to see his beloved characters come to life, pixel by pixel, living out their life like real people.
He decides it’s time to wash up and call it a night. Moving out ended up being a lot more overwhelming than he counted on it being, and he still has a whole week to himself before classes start. That’s plenty of time to get acquainted with the campus, fix up his room and start getting used to his newfound freedom.
Yeosang is woken up by the noise from outside in the hallway. When he checks his phone it says 10 o’clock, which makes him wonder why someone is being this loud on a Sunday morning. Then again, he’s not used to living with other people like this. It could be anything that has them excited. The sun is already high in the sky outside and that could probably be considered reason enough.
It’s been ages since Yeosang could sleep in and not set an alarm. His room is still a mess but he reminds himself he has no one he needs to make it presentable for, besides himself. He returns his attention to his phone and notices he’s received a message from Hwasa. Something about that cup of coffee they agreed on and a suggestion to meet around noon. Yeosang quickly replies with a yes and asks if she’ll come pick him up at his room, since he still has no idea where anyone else lives around here.
While unpacking his clothes and trying to find an outfit for the day, he realises he hardly has anything he considers worth wearing. It’s a conundrum, really, since Yeosang has all the clothes in the world to wear, even all the expensive designer brands his father has gifted him over the years, but it’s not what he wants.
They’re all incredibly bland and boring. Neutral colours, basic fits, nothing exciting. He saw how colourful and different all the city kids dressed yesterday - something entirely new for someone like Yeosang. He’s used to wearing button ups and pressed slacks with shiny leather shoes. All something his mother had picked out for him.
He has a sudden epiphany and quickly goes to rummage through one of the cardboard boxes, until he finds what he’s looking for: a wooden trinket box. Inside are some of the few things he’s managed to save from the never ending battle against her. Though it’s mostly accessories he considers them his spoils of war. He runs the tips of his fingers over the items - pretty hair pins adorned with pearls and rhinestones, a string made from the softest satin, some jewellery he’s collected over time - the items might be scarce, but to Yeosang they present endless possibilities.
He settles on wearing a pair of black slacks accompanied by a loose, white dress shirt. He smiles to himself in the mirror as he ties the powdery pink satin string in a loose bow underneath the lapels. At least this adds a little, much needed personal touch. He nods in appreciation and ruffles his black hair a little.
This will do for now.
Just as he finishes, a soft knock sounds from the front door of his room. Hwasa is here. He quickly throws a few things into a tote - most importantly, the new black card from his father. With a wry smile on his lips Yeosang promises himself that he’ll splurge on new clothes and accessories for himself later today.
The whole walk away from campus and towards the metro is spent with Hwasa absolutely gushing about Yeosang’s look. From the moment he opened the door she was all over him, complimenting him about how different he looked compared to yesterday. She’s already insisted three times that he’s the epitome of beauty. He knows she means it, she’s easy to read like that. There’s a sincerity to her eyes in the way they crinkle at the corner when she smiles at him. She might be shorter than him but her personality makes her tower above him by a mile, and Yeosang absolutely basks in the attention for once.
She pulls him into a little café to order them the promised cup of coffee.
“Do you take any sugar or milk, sweetheart?” Hwasa asks.
Yeosang almost trips over his own feet and bumps into a nearby table.
“Noona, please!”
“No nicknames?” She giggles.
“It– It’s okay, I’m just not … used to it.”
The girl behind the counter pours them their cups and hands them to Hwasa on a tray. Yeosang awkwardly follows behind her with a bright red blush on his cheeks and mentally curses himself for being so awkward. They find a table at the window and Yeosang instantly picks up the cup to take in the scent of freshly brewed coffee–
“Ouch, ah! Hothothot–”
Hwasa smacks her lips and waves at her mouth with her hand, having burned her tongue on the steaming hot cup of coffee.
“Noted,” Yeosang adds dryly and nods, setting his cup back down without drinking from it.
Hwasa replies with a loud, unbothered laugh, making everyone else in the café perk up and stare in their direction. This seems to be her signature move by now.
“Oh sweetie, you’re hilarious,” she insists and reaches over the table to pat the top of his head. “So, tell me about yourself. You’re my mentee, I want to know all about you!”
Yeosang runs a finger along the ridge of his cup, avoiding eye contact. “There isn’t much to tell, honestly. I’m sure my story is nothing new. Rich parents, lucky enough to grow up with personal tutors, which is how I got good enough grades to get myself into a place like Yonsei … And here I am.”
“Psh, don’t be so cynical. And for the record, I didn’t have rich parents like that.”
Yeosang perks up and regrettably sees the blank expression on his noona’s face.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that–”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetie. Just– not all of us have the same story, and I’m sure yours is unique, too,” she encourages and carefully takes another sip of her coffee.
Yeosang fidgets with his hands underneath the table. He knows he should tell her the polite, public-friendly version of his upbringing, but a little voice in the back of his mind goads him into being just a tad bit honest.
“Uhm, well … I wasn’t lying when I said I grew up with rich parents, but that doesn’t mean it was a nice childhood,” he explains and clutches the porcelain cup in between his hands. “To be honest, I’m kind of relieved to be here. It’s … It’s like a new start for me.”
Hwasa looks at him with a concerned look, a little perplexed perhaps. Yeosang is quick to apologise for making her uncomfortable with his honesty, but she dismisses him with the wave of her hand. “No, no, don’t apologise. A lot of us didn’t have the best childhood, don’t apologise for being honest. You can tell me about it if you want to.”
“I don’t want to turn this into a sob story,” Yeosang sighs and finally takes a careful sip of his coffee.
“It won’t be if you let it,” Hwasa explains and smiles at him with a knowing look. “Own your life story. Don’t make it someone else's. Make it yours.”
All Yeosang can do is nod in agreement.
“Do you want to talk about it? I know I’m practically a stranger, but I’m here to listen if you want.”
Yeosang shakes his head slowly. “No. I should move forward and do so for myself, just like you said.” He manages a careful smile to assure her.
The low murmur of the café floods his mind along with the vivid memories of his childhood. Her words sit with him for a long time. He knows Hwasa is right. He shouldn’t let the past become his present. It’s just … Difficult. It’s not easy to undo so many years of indoctrination all at once.
Yeosang is thankful that Hwasa gives him the space and time he needs, until he’s ready to talk again. She’s sorted to browse on her phone and it leaves Yeosang to sip at his coffee and appreciate the day for what it is - him, far away from home, drinking coffee with a potential friend.
He’s pulled out of his daydream when Hwasa suddenly gasps out loud.
“What’s the matter?”
“The shirt I wanted is on sale!” she squeaks and shoves the phone in Yeosang’s face.
It’s a pretty pink blouse with a lot of frills. Not really his style, but he can still appreciate the delicate features of it. Then he notices the price. Even on sale it’s expensive. Hwasa might not have rich parents but she has rich taste.
Suddenly, the black card is burning a hole in Yeosang’s pocket and he gets an impulsive idea. “Is it available at a store somewhere nearby?”
Three hours later Yeosang and Hwasa are strutting back onto campus with shopping bags and iced americanos in their hands. She’s hanging onto him by one hand and coffee in the other, while Yeosang is ever the gentleman and carries her bags for her. She’s still ranting away about their impromptu shopping spree. That is, Hwasa did the shopping and Yeosang did the paying, even though it took him well over twenty minutes to convince her to let him pay.
The employee at the front door of the store (the one that carried the brand which Hwasa’s desired blouse came from) had given them a disparaging look when they’d first entered. If there was one thing Yeosang knew how to deal with, it was snobs. He only had to pull out his black card and point a finger towards Hwasa, “Whatever she wants, put it on this,” and the saleswoman had been all over them.
She kept bringing over outfits, leaving them on a little portable rack outside the solitary changing room area, while making sure Yeosang was stocked up on snacks and drinks to keep him entertained and comfortable.
“You’re so sweet for treating your girlfriend like this,” the assistant had said, voice dripping with fake enthusiasm, and Yeosang hadn’t even bothered to correct her before she strode off again.
He guessed it did kinda look like that, when you saw it from an outside perspective, but in reality he was just happy to be spending time with someone who seemed to care about him. Every now and then, Hwasa would come out and show off whatever new outfit she’d put on. It didn’t matter what she wore. Everything looked great on her. She’d pull another outfit off of the rack and bring it back into the changing room with her.
Inside one of the bags on Yeosang’s arms is one of his own purchases. He didn’t get to splurge today, like he initially planned on, but he’s perfectly fine with that since the one thing he did buy is something very special …
Because while lounging on the couch and waiting for Hwasa to come show him another outfit, something had caught his eye. She’d just pulled an outfit from the rack and disappeared into the changing room, which left the remaining garments swaying back and forth gently … and there, Yeosang noticed it. It was a simple pleated skirt. Black with a dark tartan pattern.
Something about it had drawn him in and before he knew it, he was standing at the rack and prodding at it with his fingertips. The fabric felt rough to the touch - probably a heavy wool blend - and the length of it was just perfect. Not too short, yet not long enough to be considered prudish either.
Yeosang had always wanted to own a skirt. He’d come so close to buying one online so many times, just to feel what it was like to wear one. To see himself in it. To think of himself as pretty. But he’d never gone through with it. He’d been too afraid of the repercussions.
But today was different.
Yeosang was free to make his own choices for the first time in his life.
And so he’d bought the skirt. Mixed it in between the many purchases of Hwasa’s, so no one would question a thing. He’d watched the bags like a hawk to make sure he knew which one held the skirt, so he could pull it out at a later time …
And now it’s that time, as they’ve finally arrived back at campus and soon have to depart each way. He just doesn’t know how.
“Can we sit for a second? These bags are heavy,” Yeosang whines and slumps down on a nearby bench.
Hwasa follows along and complains that he should have let her carry some of the bags, too. She’s too attentive and constantly clinging to him, which doesn’t give him a chance to pull out the skirt and hide it in his tote bag. He lets out a defeated groan.
“Are you okay?” She asks, worried.
“Ah, yeah, I’m fine,” Yeosang lies. “Hey, could you throw this away for me?”
He holds out his half-empty, watered down iced americano and as soon as she takes it and turns towards the bin at the other end of the bench, Yeosang seizes the chance to grab the skirt.
“What are you doing?”
Hwasa’s voice feels like a bucket of ice water being poured all over him, as Yeosang is stuck mid-air with the skirt in one hand and his tote bag being held open with the other.
“I– I’m–”
“I didn’t … get that,” she adds, but her voice is drowned out by the ringing in Yeosang’s ears.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! This was exactly what he’d hoped to avoid. He instantly feels sick to his stomach and his face is burning with embarrassment. He doesn’t know whether to feign confidence and come up with a lie, or break down and cry. Probably the latter.
“Did you … Purchase it? For yourself?” Hwasa asks, zero filter.
The obvious question hangs in the air for what feels like an eternity, before Yeosang manages the tiniest of nods. He stares out in front of himself and refuses to look at her, afraid he might start crying or see the disgust in her eyes. It’s enough to hear it. He doesn’t need the visual addition.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she blurts out loud and loops her arms all around him, pulling him in for a tight hug, “You should have told me!”
Yeosang doesn’t know what to do with himself. He just knows he’s completely frozen within the hug and that it’s awkward as hell. Her words take forever to register inside his brain properly. She isn’t appalled. She doesn’t think it's weird?
“I bet you’ll look so fucking good wearing it!”
There’s still heat in Yeosang’s cheeks, but now it’s for an entirely different reason. She thinks he’ll look good wearing it. She … Approves?
“I’m sorry–”
“Oh, don’t be sorry, Yeosang-ah, there’s nothing to apologise for. Why did you hide it from me? Is it the first time you’ve bought yourself something like this?” Hwasa asks, voice sounding very motherly and borderlining on patronising.
Still, he finally accepts the embrace and leans in to hug her back, still clutching the skirt in one hand. He needs to believe she only means well and that this is her way of being a supportive noona.
“I’ve always wanted one, but–” his voice trails off as he disengages.
Hwasa is looking at him with big, gleaming eyes and her hands clasped together in front of herself, almost like she can’t contain the emotions she’s feeling.
“What?” Yeosang asks, perplexed.
“I don’t want to come off as overwhelming, okay? But I have so many clothes to throw your way if you want them. You can always use me as an excuse to buy something for yourself, if you have to, okay? I just … I just want you to know I support you one hundred percent, Yeosangie.”
That’s a lot of words to contain all at once, Yeosang thinks to himself. He knows she means well - the smile on her face is genuine like always and she’s even clapping her hands excitedly now. He knows. He just … has to take it all in.
“Thank you, really,” he finally answers and lets out a sigh he didn’t even know he’d been holding in.
It feels like a heavy weight has been lifted off of his shoulders and that he’s finally able to breathe again, for the first time in a long while. He looks down at the skirt in his hands and lets out another sigh. It’s stupid– It’s so stupid it has to be such a big fucking issue. It’s just a piece of clothes, really. It’s just fucking fabric. He tries to repeat the affirmation over and over again in his head, until he believes it.
Yeah, it’s just a piece of fabric. Yeosang can wear whatever he wants to. Even if someone else might give him shit for doing so, he’s been through worse. A wry smile makes its way onto his lips and he clings to the skirt, like it holds a lot more meaning than just being the simple piece of fabric that is it …
He can wear what he wants. Yeosang can finally wear what he wants.
“Thank you, Hwasa. Your support really means a lot to me, even if we’re still only getting to know each other.”
He puts the skirt back into his tote and gets up, ready to make his way to his own dorm room. Hwasa follows suit and as they arrive at the second floor, she pulls him in for another hug.
“Feel free to ask me for anything, anytime, okay? Also, I really should have introduced you to a lot of things about Yonsei today, but since that didn’t happen, we can meet up again one of these days, okay?”
Yeosang nods into the hug. She pulls back and reaches out to push a stray lock of hair behind Yeosang’s ear with her long, pink claws. “Be nice to yourself, Yeosangie … Leave the past where it belongs. You deserve to be happy.”
Yeosang breaks down and cries the second he’s closed the door to his dorm room behind him. Not because he’s unhappy, but because he doesn’t know what else to do. He needs to let it all out. He’s eager to try the skirt, sitting in the tote bag beside him on the floor, but he’s not sure he even can. Today has already been a lot and he’s not sure he can handle what it will feel like to finally wear what he’s been dying to for years. He manages to pry himself off of the floor and stumble towards the bed, where he buries himself underneath the duvet.
Tomorrow. He’ll try tomorrow. And perhaps he’ll even muster up the courage to ask Hwasa to lend him a pair of tights, too.
┈
The semester starts slow, yet the amount of information he learns every day is staggering. There’s so much to remember, so much to keep track of and so much to buy. Yeosang had unknowingly come way too unprepared compared to most in his class in regards to supplies. But everyone is friendly and they take their time to explain to him which webpages to purchase from and which stores are the best around Seoul.
There’s even a shared trip to one of the art supplies stores one day, which throws Yeosang for a loop and has him feeling like he’s right back at high school for a field day trip . Everyone is excited and treats the whole thing like some religious experience. Yeosang doesn’t understand any of it, as all of his supplies always just came from generic websites, but he’s easily lulled into the experience and soon understands why everyone has been giddy all morning–
He finds himself spending half an hour just touching the bristles of paint brushes.
Hwasa naturally becomes his best friend on campus. She might be four years his senior, but she just offers a whole different kind of friendship than he’s ever experienced before. Some days she invites him to her dorm and they just giggle and gossip for hours. He even meets her girlfriend, who’s just as friendly as her but also highly intimidating. She’s a few years older than the both of them and it makes him feel like a little kid in their presence. Still, it’s nice to meet other queer people and it makes Yeosang feel even more comfortable about himself.
On other days - and nights - it turns into a chaotic fashion event, where they dig through Hwasa’s massive makeup collection and other beauty products. Yeosang always ends up having his mug beat for the gods and he appreciates all the tips and tricks she’s able to teach him. He browses through her closet every now and then, and sometimes he finds a piece of clothing he likes, which he then dares to ask to try on.
His favourites so far have been a simple and cute pocketed overall dress and some cute, frilly hot pants. He learns he likes showing off his legs, but preferably while wearing a pair of stockings or thigh highs. Yeosang still only tries on the outfits behind closed doors, but as his confidence grows, he feels like he’ll soon be brave enough to actually wear it around campus, too.
“We should go shopping again soon, but this time, it’s for you. You can just use me as a proxy,” Hwasa encourages him one night and applauds the white graphic liner Yeosang has been able to put on all by himself.
“I’ve been thinking,” Yeosang begins and looks at her while biting his lip nervously. “I want to go blonde.”
Hwasa’s jaw drops to the floor for a second, before she squeals out loud with excitement. “Of course! Oh my god, you’ll look so good! Wait, do you want me to do it?” She looks at the clock on her phone, “The nearby drug stores are still open for another hour!”
Yeosang is about to argue against it when a sly smile spreads across her lips. “Saaaangie,” she sing-songs and pokes her index fingers together in a plea.
Yeosang knows it’s a bad idea to go along with an impulsive idea at 21 o’clock at night, yet he still agrees. It’s Sunday tomorrow anyway, so he can live a little, right? While Hwasa makes a run to the store, Yeosang paces back and forth in circles, hoping he hasn’t just made the worst decision of his entire life.
It all ends up becoming a three hour long project with Hwasa’s whole room smelling like chemicals and Yeosang suffering in every way possible. In the end the piss poor project turns into literally that - Yeosang looking at himself after all is done, and observing the piss yellow bleached mop of hair on top of his head.
He breaks out into a hysterical laughing fit and has to hold on to the sink to avoid falling flat on his ass. Hwasa apologises to no end and offers to make a run for some toner or purple shampoo, even if she has to go deep into Seoul to get it.
Yeosang declines. “Just help me make an appointment at a salon tomorrow instead, okay?” he manages to huff out in between laughs.
He hides underneath one of Hwasa’s baby blue bucket hats until he makes it inside the salon Sunday afternoon. The hairdresser doesn’t look too pleased about the project and spends twenty minutes scolding Hwasa for doing something so stupid. Just when Yeosang thinks he’s in the clear, he gets an earful too because he agreed to let her.
“She means well, she just likes to boss people around,” Hwasa whispers to Yeosang.
“Ahn Hye Jin , you better watch your mouth!” the hairdresser scolds and slaps her hand away from Yeosang’s shoulder.
“And this is exactly why I don’t bother coming over, even though you’re family,” Hwasa snaps and leans back into her chair, spinning it around for good measure, “I told you to call me Hwasa now. Hyejin is so boring!”
Yeosang looks back and forth between the both of them, until his head is forcefully turned back towards the mirror by the hairdresser. He’s so confused right now and he doesn’t even know what to say. Hwasa unintentionally clears everything up, when she laments the fact that she decided to take Yeosang to this very shop,
“I’m never bringing you clients again, ugh! Sangie, we should leave, my sister doesn’t seem to be up for the task anyway!”
“What, you’re siblings?” Yeosang blurts out and looks up at the hairdresser through the mirror, to which she eyes him with a raised eyebrow.
“He’s not the quickest to catch up, is he?”
“Shut your trap and be nice, I love him regardless,” Hwasa smirks at Yeosang when she sees the surprise written all over his face.
Yeosang sticks his tongue out at her. So the sassiness runs in the family. Good to know. “For my own safety, are there any more siblings I should know about?” he asks.
“Just one more, but she still lives back in Jeonju,” The older sister replies.
“Jeonju. Off limits. For my own sanity,” he adds dryly which makes them both cackle out loud like old hags. So that runs in the family too.
It takes a couple of hours but once Yeosang is done, his hair has come out icy blonde with a dash of ashy tones at the roots. Hwasa’s sister styled it with a middle part and a bit of waves, and he can’t stop looking at himself in the mirror once it’s entirely finished.
Never having dyed your hair before is one thing, but to go from black to platinum in the first setting is a lot. He really loves it though and not just because it’s another change - it just suits him better, he thinks. His complexion looks better and the waves make Yeosang feel very pretty. He looks more androgynous like this and it’s essentially this that makes him the happiest.
“If you’re done obsessing about yourself, angel, we gotta move. We have a bit of shopping to do before we head back to the dorms,” Hwasa explains as she pays her sister for her work.
Yeosang whines about not being allowed to pay for it himself, but Hwasa assured him that she would be the one to correct her own mistake. “What are we going shopping for?” Yeosang asks curiously.
“You can’t keep on stealing my tights and hot pants,” Hwasa answers with a smirk. “We’re gonna go get you some of your own.”
Hwasa’s sister cocks an eyebrow at him, while Yeosang blushes all the way down to his collarbones.
“Just ignore her, she’s old and conservative,” Hwasa jabs and pockets her credit card.
“Please,” her sister retorts, “I’m only appalled by the fact that you still insist on running around with your ass hanging out of something like hot pants!”
Hwasa sticks her tongue out at her while Yeosang bows and feels more than ready to bolt out of the shop. He mentally makes a note of never being in the presence of both the Ahn sisters (or all three of them, heaven forbid) ever again.
┈
It takes Yeosang another week before he feels confident enough to wear the skirt outside of his dorm room. It’s colder outside today even though it’s only the beginning of September. It rained all night and as Yeosang sits in his little window nook and looks outside, he only sees grey skies. Classes don’t start until 10 o’clock so he has plenty of time to get ready (and mentally hype himself up for wearing a skirt for the first time).
The clock strikes 9:40 when he gives himself a last once-over in the mirror. The black, pleated tartan patterned skirt rides high on his thighs, yet just a bit of it peeks out underneath the oversized sweater he put on on top. It’s thinly knitted in the prettiest maroon coloured yarn and has a turtleneck. Everything ties together with the black platform loafers on his feet and the sheer black tights wrapped around his legs. It all goes well together - especially with his new hair.
Yeosang lifts up a foot and bends it behind himself in his best babygirl-like pose.
You can do this, you look beautiful, he encourages himself.
Leave the past where it belongs.
As a final addition, he picks up his black backpack and throws it over one shoulder and ruffles up his wavy blonde hair one last time.
Yeah, I got this.
As Yeosang walks down the halls towards class, he knows he’s highly attuned to everyone around him and that there’s a high risk he’s overreacting. He knows it’s a false belief when he worries that everyone he passes by is glaring at him. He also knows it isn’t true when his mind tries to trick him into believing, that they all know he’s wearing a skirt and that they’re appalled by the idea - but it still gets to him.
But to his surprise, no one says anything. Not even a snarky little remark or people doing the old loud-whispering, where it’s clearly not meant to come off as a whisper at all. There’s a few extra looks his way, sure, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary.
When he finally makes it to class and sits down in a vacant spot, there’s even a fellow classmate who compliments him for looking extra pretty today. Yeosang nods politely and thanks her as heat rushes to his cheeks. Their instructor arrives at the same moment, dragging an entire skeleton behind him on a wheeled pole.
“Alright, sketch pads out. This here, is my friend Haegol. We’re going to teach you all about anatomy. Today, we’re starting with bones–”
The instructor’s voice soon becomes a droning sound inside Yeosang’s head, as he mechanically follows the lesson and gets on with the job. He loves the way his pen and ruler scratches across the rough paper of his sketchbook. It soon becomes all that’s heard throughout the room from everyone else, too, and it lulls him into a blissful state of focus, as he works on finishing a sketch of a skull.
When class is done, their instructor reminds them it would be a good idea to go pick up a few anatomy books at the library. “Since the medical faculty library is off limits for anyone who doesn’t study there, you’ll have to make due with the one on main campus. There should be plenty though–”
Yeosang is already half-way out the door and only focused on getting himself some late lunch. He’s been feeling a lot better about food in general since coming here. He still has to remind himself that fats and carbohydrates aren’t his enemy and that he’s allowed to snack and drink sugary drinks. Today’s lunch is a rich broth with beef and plenty of vegetables, and it’s just the hearty meal he needs to power through the day.
He had hoped to find Hwasa lounging around the dinner hall but there’s no sight of her anywhere. He wanted to ask her to come with him to the library, since he hasn’t been there yet. He could text her but he decides against it. She’s probably busy with her own classes right now and he doesn’t want to be a bother. He’ll find his way there and figure it out on his own. If all else fails, there’ll be a librarian around that he can ask for help anyway.
The library stands alone as a complete contrast to everything else on campus. While the architecture of most buildings make the university come off as pretty modern - at least on the inside - the vibe of the library matches the outside of what Yeosang pictured Yonsei university to be on his first day:
Like something out of a history book. Like it’s built to cater to any student who’s just slightly interested in subjects like philosophy, literature and fine arts. For someone who appreciates dark and mysterious aesthetics. The bookshelves are all intricately carved and made from some dark wood, and there’s endless rows upon endless rows of them. Some areas have been sealed off with glass walls - probably study rooms - but they’re about the only modern thing in here.
Everything comes together in one, big, massive area and as if the ground floor isn’t enough, there’s even a first floor that’s entirely shaped like a balcony, winding all the way around the entire room, leaving the middle of the library completely exposed from ground floor to its high ceiling.
Naturally, it takes Yeosang a while to figure his way around. Just when he thinks he’s found the aisle of books he was looking for - anatomy and medical - he finds himself being completely lost again. It’s so quiet in here and he almost doesn’t dare ask anyone for help, afraid he might speak out too loud if he does.
He decides he might as well get a bit of homework done since he’s here anyway. He sits himself down at a nearby, empty table, situated off to the side in the library, in a long row of others alike underneath the balconies. Several tables are already occupied by other students, some of them having heaps of books stacked up beside them on their table. Like the art student Yeosang is, he appreciates the comforting aesthetics of the library. The table he’s sitting at is made from a beautiful mahogany wood and Yeosang doesn’t even have a qualified guess as to how old it is. When he leans back in his chair and looks to the low ceiling, the calm aesthetic he just spent a few moments appreciating is completely disrupted;
Up above him, the ceiling of the underside of the balcony is entirely decorated in a vibrant pattern of traditional dancheong colours and he easily becomes completely immersed within it.
Yeosang decides the library might just be his new favourite place on campus. It’s the perfect mix of traditional and modern, calm and chaos. Just how he prefers it.
The quiet bustle of the library soothes him as he studies. Before he knows it, an hour has passed and he’s already finished with an assignment which isn’t due until next Monday. He still needs to find an anatomy atlas somewhere though. Sure, he could look up everything online if he wanted to, but he’d rather take his instructor’s advice and not risk being the only one showing up without a book in hand next week.
He leaves his bag and things behind at the table, to go have another try at locating the anatomy section. There’s a large brass sign on one of the walls, explaining to him where each section is located, but no matter which corner he turns, he can’t find it. Yeosang lets out an exasperated sigh and decides to admit defeat. He’ll go to wherever the front desk is located and ask one of the librarians or student workers for help.
Having weaved his way through the bookshelves, he finally locates the front area. It’s a space made up of several desks with office-like areas, but there’s only one person sitting there right now. As Yeosang approaches, the person suddenly gets up and begins to walk away, in the opposite direction of him,
“Wait–”
Yeosang scurries towards the counter but it’s too late. The woman didn’t hear him and now she already disappeared down an aisle of bookshelves. He lets out another defeated sigh.
Fine, he’ll just wait for her to return. She clearly can’t abandon her post for too long, right?
Yeosang leans against the low counter and looks at the desks located behind it. It’s pretty clear that there’s several individuals working here, as some of the desks look very personalised, covered in family photos and knick knacks, while others look more … Deserted.
On the desk just behind the counter, someone has abandoned an open book. It lies flat on its spine, displaying two pages with some language Yeosang doesn’t recognise. At least he can identify that it’s written in the latin alphabet, but that’s not what grabs his attention. Instead, he takes his time to look at the pretty bookmark lying flat across the pages:
It’s made with a bright red string, tied into three intricate Korean knots. He’s got no idea what the specific knots are named, but it is pretty specific to see it used as a bookmark. Yeosang is used to seeing them being used for other crafts like norigae on women’s hanbok, or for protection charms or simple things like keychains. He supposes it’s not entirely out of this world to use it as a makeshift bookmark, too. Just when he gets up on his tiptoes to have a better look, he’s startled by a voice coming from behind him,
“Can I help you with something?”
Yeosang spins around so fast, he almost loses his footing. When he sees the man who’s addressed him, he almost loses it for a second time.
He looks young, but he’s definitely older than Yeosang. He’s wearing round glasses, frames made from a thin, silvery metal and it matches the grey that’s dyed into the tips of his hair at the back of his neck. The rest of his hair is jet black and it’s swooped back, out of his face, and it only adds to the stranger’s intimidating aura.
Yeosang manages to stutter out an embarrassing sound that’s supposed to sound like words.
The man adjusts his grip around the heap of books he’s holding in his arms and lowers his face just an inch, to look Yeosang in the eye over the edge of his specs,
“Cat got your tongue?” he smirks questioningly.
Yeosang thinks this might just be the case, because the man definitely has some mischievous mirth glinting in those narrow, feline shaped eyes of his and it’s making Yeosang feel very uneasy and very self conscious all of a sudden.
Just as Yeosang processes the thought he realises he’s entirely backed up against the counter and that he’s positioned with his palm flat against it, like he’s prey being cornered by some predator. His heart skips a beat at the thought and he responds by gasping for air, getting heart palpitation that leaves a dull pain deep within his chest.
“I, uh, I need … I’m looking for help,” he finally stutters out.
“I can see that,” the man replies, his voice sounding as clear as a sharp razor.
And just like that, the stranger lets his gaze wander down over Yeosang’s entire body, unapologetically checking him out and scanning every inch of him. When their eyes meet again, Yeosang feels a desperate need to look away, but he can’t. Something inside of him tells him he shouldn’t. That it would be dangerous if he did.
The man licks his lips and carves them into a bright smile on his face. It’s probably meant to come off as disarming, but it feels nothing of the sort. Yeosang only feels ten times worse, as he sees how the stranger’s eyes crinkle at their corners when he smiles. He’s got dimples. He’s got fucking dimples.
“Let me just put these down,” the man says as he backs up a bit and begins rounding the counter.
Yeosang is relieved to have some distance and a counter between them now, which helps to alleviate some of the tension that surrounds them. He doesn’t at all understand what the hell just happened, but it feels like he’s dissociating from everything around him. The sounds of the library have turned to a dull buzz and the only thing Yeosang can focus on, is the way the stranger carefully puts the stack of books down on the desk right in front of him - the one with the bookmark - and then props up one of his elbows atop of the stack and leans his chin on the back of his hand, staring Yeosang down,
“So, how can I help you?”
“Uh … book,” Yeosang mumbles at first, before he shakes his head and desperately tries to gather his bearings. “Anatomy. I need a book or an atlas on anatomy. For art class,” he adds.
The stranger smirks at him again and holds his gaze for what feels like an eternity, before he lifts his chin off his hand and points a finger in a direction. “Section E, 50.1.”
“I tried that, but, uhm– the shelves just changed from 40 to 60 and I couldn’t find the, uh, fifties section,” Yeosang stutters.
Much to his misery, the stranger just chuckles all dark and smiles at him again.
“I’m guessing you haven’t been upstairs then.”
Upstairs. Oh. Great. Just great. Yeosang grabs the hem of his skirt and belatedly realises that of all days, today is the day he decided to wear a skirt out in public for the first time. On the day he ends up making a complete mess of himself in front of a stranger … A pretty stranger who also just checked him out like he was ready to eat him up in one bite … In front of someone whom he has absolutely zero idea who is, but who's affecting him in all the right and wrong ways at the same time. Gods, Yeosang feels like a mess.
“Do you want me to show you … ssi?”
Yeosang eyes go wide with surprise at the honorific. “Yeosang. Kang Yeosang. M-my name is Yeosang,” he blurts out nervously, making a complete fool of himself again. “And, uh, yes– Please.”
The stranger pushes his glasses up his nose and straightens back up with a satisfied smirk on his lips. He runs his hand through his black bangs and ruffles them a bit. To Yeosang, the action feels like a swift kick to his chest and he realises all too late, that the stranger catches him glaring, blatantly.
“If you’d be so kind and follow me, Yeosang-ssi.”
Yeosang follows behind him, feeling like he’s tiptoeing and shuffling his feet along clumsily, while the other carries himself with an elegance Yeosang could never possess. As a complete contrast to Yeosang’s outfit, the stranger is dressed in a tight fitting dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up his forearms and pressed slacks to match, all in black.
They make their way up a flight of stairs and just atop the landing is the infamous anatomy section Yeosang was unable to find. Great. The stranger easily finds what Yeosang couldn’t and he pulls a massive book down from one of the shelves and holds it out towards him,
“There you go, Yeosang-ssi.”
He says his name like it already belongs to him.
Again, Yeosang realises all too late that he’s just staring at the other without answering. “T-thank you, uh …”
The stranger takes a step closer as he places the book into Yeosang’s hands and, unknowingly, now carves a space for himself deep within Yeosang’s consciousness, with a name Yeosang will never forget.
“Choi. My name is Choi San.”